


tight knit boys

by whalebur



Series: two sides of the same coin [1]
Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Big Brother Technoblade, Family Dynamics, Ghostbur, Sleepy Bois Inc as Family, a lot of thinking on technos end, and of course the little shit that is tommyinnit, dude never stops thinking, no beta we die like men, so much thinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-19
Updated: 2020-12-19
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:34:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28163265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whalebur/pseuds/whalebur
Summary: “He’s gone,” Dream spoke easily, his wrapped hands waving off Tecnoblade’s harsh words. “He’s been missing for days. I visit him to check in on him, since I care about him, and he just disappeared. His things are gone, everything is out of order. I didn’t find a body, so it looks like he packed up and ditched. It’s okay, though, I’ll find him, I always do.”The words gave Technoblade an icy feeling in his chest. The way Dream punctuated the last sentence made him feel like something was going on, and it wasn't something good. He wasn’t stupid like Tubbo (or, naive, rather) and he didn’t blindly follow a tyrant like the rest of the idiots in L’Manberg. He was his own person.For a good week, things have been disappearing from Technoblade's house. With everyone living their own life, and Dream's clutch on his land tightening, Techno finds himself slowly piecing together what intruder has gotten into his house, and what they want exactly.
Relationships: Technoblade & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Wilbur Soot & Technoblade & TommyInnit & Phil Watson
Series: two sides of the same coin [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2064117
Comments: 21
Kudos: 1330





	tight knit boys

Technoblade had found that the best way to get his way, was with action, with some sort of motivation. He had never been one to back down, even if sometimes he had to retreat and bide his time while forming a plan. When he was a kid, his dad had said multiple times that he was too sullen for just a child. After he’d been found hiding out in the forest (how a piglin had gotten out of the Nether still was beyond Phil) it seemed that sure, he had grown to like people a little more, but he was really only civil to close family, and the occasional person who passed through his life. Family was always going to be something that he held tight to his chest. He didn’t remember much before Phil, but what he did know that was that if anything ever happened to his dad and brothers, he’d lose it.

He’d known Tommy had been exiled, but he figured that since the kid had been in a literal war and had been forced to be an adult even though he was a teenager, that he could survive a little isolation. Maybe it was just Techno being hopeful that they wouldn’t have another ghost wandering around, unable to leave the realm of Earth, while also being unable to fit into that realm altogether. Maybe it hurt him a little bit to see his family in pain, but Technoblade had never been one to show off his feelings. He was a thinker, one that internalized things and sucked up the attention he was given, only to reply with monotone statements and eyes that had an almost cold glaze to them. But, that had to be why he was helping Tommy-- not because he had just shown up, but because he was family and you weren’t supposed to leave family behind… or whatever.

He had sat unsure for a few days upon a quiet arrival of an intruder. Techno had noticed things disappearing, but he figured he was somehow misplacing objects. He was in the middle of nowhere, it’s not like someone was showing up and taking things-- it would be more obvious than that. If someone was truly stealing from him, they would’ve taken some really valuable things, broken furniture down, not just taken food and ran off, only to come back again. Techno wondered, since there was an abundance of fauna, that maybe something was getting into his house and taking little potshots at his food supply. There would be crumbs of bread on counters, chests looking like they were almost forced open, and random items scattered about as if the thief had had five minutes to do a supermarket sweep. Maybe it hadn’t worried Techno because he realized that if he did find someone, he could easily just force the person out and away from his humble abode, but soon enough indicators became a little more clear. A rip of red fabric, stained with mud and grime, hanging on a closed door. It was as if someone had messed up their grand entrance and ripped an article of clothing, and when the homeowner had taken it from the doorway, he examined the fabric with careful hands, before bringing it up to sniff.

Ah, yes, it smelled like absolute shit. 

So maybe he was dealing with a vagabond instead of rats and rabbits. 

He had brought Phil over to try and have some damage control, his father surveying his living room as he frowned, before looking to Technoblade. “Everything looks like it’s in place, but at the same time, it has something… off to it,” the older man spoke, adjusting his hat with a clearing of his throat. He brought pale fingers to swipe over an end table, dust collecting on them. 

Technoblade wasn’t one to sit around and relax, even when in retirement, he was always entertaining himself somehow. No time for cleaning, at least not until it got so bad that there was trash almost everywhere, a state of subdued hoarding. Phil had always chastised him as a child, telling him if he lived in a pigsty, that he would simply turn into a pig altogether, no man to him. Techno, only seven then, had stared at his father with a shocked expression. For two months he cleaned, only to confront Phil one day and shout that he didn’t care if he turned out to be a real pig. Apparently, cleaning was stupid and he wanted to spend his days either playing pretend as a famous hunter with his wooden sword, or trying to mess around with his father’s horses, ones he was too small to ride. Even as a child, he marched to his own drum, and Phil had begrudgingly dealt with his son trying to get out of chores so he could practice fighting.

“That’s what I was thinking, there’s some aura to the way that everything’s set up. I thought the missing items problem was going to be over when I left L’Manberg, but apparently rats show up wherever you go,” Techno grumbled as he looked over to a picture hanging on the wall, his mouth in a thin line of frustration. For someone so monotone and expressionless, it was always easy to figure out when he was thinking about something that bothered him and made his eyes even icier than normal. He got a faraway expression as his brain turned metaphorical gears, the ever analytic pigman.

Phil walked forward, listening to his footsteps on wood flooring. He had helped build the house, so surely there was something he could do to help. “If you do have thieves coming around here, maybe you should set up better reinforcements. Set up traps, and when you find them, we can apprehend them together.” Phil smiled, an almost prideful look to it. “Father and son bonding experience-- like a crime fighting duo on a very small scale.” It was obvious, out of the three children he had adopted, who Phil was closest to. But, no one could blame him, with how his children varied in ages, personalities, and how young they had been when Phil had met them and decided to take them in.

“A crime fighting duo,” Techno snorted, though his voice wasn’t full of much humor, “keep dreaming, dad. I’m in retirement, there’s no crime here and the most fighting I do is taking out mobs that show up. I’m an old soul.”

“You always have been,” Phil said as he picked a shirt up off the ground that had been carelessly tossed when Techno had probably gotten home from hunting or looting some random cave. He went to fold it absentmindedly (being a parent never ended) and set it on the main table, noticing the red fabric strip his son had found and picking it up, running his fingers over the coarse material. It reminded him of something, some kind of exciting, booming voice, but it couldn’t be that. Even so, he had to voice a thought just from the memory. “Have you spoken to Tommy, recently?”

Techno was ripped out of his thoughts and he scowled over at Phil. “Why would I? You know he’s not close with me-- and there was the exiling situation, so I don’t think anyone but Dream knows what he’s up to. I’ve travelled around, and that freak is always hanging near where I know Tommy’s at. Like some kind of stalker.”

“It’s not out of character for Dream.”

“Yeah, he has the empathy and personality of a fucking mobster, dad--”

“Language.”

Technoblade huffed and went to tuck his long hair behind an ear, a nervous habit. He wasn’t fond of talking about Tommy. Sure, he worried, but anyone would worry about their family. All three of him, the three sons, they had all made mistakes, but they reacted in different ways. Techno distanced himself, Wilbur sacrificed himself, and Tommy… well, he was Tommy, it was like playing roulette when that boy made a choice, no one ever knew what he’d do next. Even when he was younger, Techno remembered how he had the anger of a rabid cat: desperate for attention, yet always sharp and hissing whenever he was even remotely mistreated. When Wilbur had died, Techno hadn’t said much. Phil had mentioned where he buried the body, and the pigman had gone out to the area, staring at the makeshift cross with a name etched into it. It was odd, he had felt… nothing. Almost empty, like some piece of him had been ripped from his chest and replaced with a hollow hole. If he had felt empathy like a normal person, if he acted like a stable man instead of a veteran warrior with empty eyes… maybe he would’ve laid flowers on the grave, said something for just himself to hear. He didn’t, though. He instead made a mental note of where the grave was and then headed out on his horse, back through the night, with that strange emptiness still in his chest.

He had never been one to explain his feelings, which meant he had never been one to understand them. Phil didn’t ask how he felt about things anymore, he just gave comfort when he knew his eldest child needed it. For that reason, Techno kept his private and complicated relationship with his emotions away from his dad, choosing to talk about things like turtle eggs and what he’d name a horse if he got a second one.

It made him feel safer to keep everyone in the dark.

“Either way, Tommy hasn’t bothered me and I haven’t bothered him, it should stay that way,” Techno said as he shifted the cloak he was wearing to keep warm. The house was warm, but outside was cold. He went out often enough that he usually didn’t strip out of his insulated clothes unless he was absolutely melting. Phil frowned at him, but dropped the subject, sighing. 

“He’d probably appreciate a visitor, Techno.”

“He’d appreciate a lot of things, I choose not to give them.”

Techno was just as stubborn as Tommy was. Phil knew they were two sides of the same coin, but it seemed that his eldest son never liked admitting that he was just as impulsive as the youngest or that when they weren’t bickering, they were a pretty good team. Techno worked by his rules, and Tommy did his own, too. They just didn’t mesh well. Phil sighed and offered a kind, but tired smile. “When you find these rats, grab me and we can deal with them.”

“Mhm,” Techno hummed in reply, watching the way Phil set down the red fabric. It was a grimy piece of evidence, but it made the gears start to turn in Technoblade’s brain as he bid his father goodbye and walked over to the table, picking up the worn material. Calloused fingers ran over the red, dirt and sweat stained item, and Techno frowned. 

He hated to admit he was ever wrong, but maybe visiting Tommy wasn’t the worst idea.

\---

When Technoblade visited the camp, he found it almost… desolate. There were signs of life, but it was like it had been abandoned. The tent was worn from mobs attacking it, the bed was now missing, chests were gone, and the grass had become overgrown where paths should be. Technoblade didn’t like the feeling in his gut of worry, but as he heard a voice from the trees behind him, that worry only turned to a sharp anger and hatred.

“You’re looking for him, aren’t you?” Dream asked, mask donned. Those two black dots and that ever stupid smile used to mock Techno, but now he just had disdain for them, a sort of deep resentment that Dream got away with whatever he wanted and then some. That mask was a symbol of something else, something beyond Dream. Some people feared seeing the eerie, empty smile, and some rejoiced it. In L’Manberg, Technoblade had found multiple evidences of graffiti in alleyways, ones of Dream’s hollow smile, with ominous wording. 

_false prophets, false empathy, false promises_

It seemed fitting, due to how Dream thought of himself as a god, how he manipulated and scared off those around him, and how he elected people without actually saying a word. Everyone was his puppet, and there was a reason that Techno had tried to leave and stay far away from the realm that the leader had considered his land, Dream SMP. He didn’t care for government and order, he never had, and as long as Dream was around, there would be order. Order in the way that innocent lives were taken, order in the way that places were burned to the ground, that every deal had a stipulation. It was never as simple as Dream giving someone what they wanted; there was an ulterior motive. After Techno had gotten his free thinking abilities and moved away from his father’s opinion, he had realized that all Dream was was a conman in a green outfit, wearing a charming smile that sent chills through anyone’s spine. He was no god, he was just someone who had been born into the right position and had played the game right. Technoblade wasn’t jealous of him, but he recognized that Dream was immensely powerful, manipulative. Maybe that’s why he wanted Dream away from Tommy: to protect that last bit of childhood the boy had in him. He’d grown up into a man almost overnight, but he still had his dinky braces, his loud, squeaky shouts, and his awkward short, yet gangly limbs.

Maybe Tommy just deserved to be a child for as long as he could.

“Well, after you exiled him, I figured he needed a visit from someone he knows,” Technoblade said coolly, not turning around as he inspected the scene further.

“Ah, I didn’t exile him,” Dream said, stepping towards Technoblade, boots crunching leaves and grass, “Tubbo did. Don’t twist the facts.”

“You act like Tubbo isn’t under your thumb.” Techno’s voice was irritable. He had just wanted to see Tommy, not run into the asshole who always seemed to be watching. 

“Tubbo has free will, Techno, he chooses not to use it.”

Technoblade sighed and turned on his heel to face the masked man. “Do you need something? Or did you just come to rub it in Tommy’s face that you made him leave the home he built?”

“He’s gone,” Dream spoke easily, his wrapped hands waving off Tecnoblade’s harsh words. “He’s been missing for days. I visit him to check in on him, since I care about him, and he just disappeared. His things are gone, everything is out of order. I didn’t find a body, so it looks like he packed up and ditched. It’s okay, though, I’ll find him, I always do.”

The words gave Technoblade an icy feeling in his chest. The way Dream punctuated the last sentence made him feel like something was going on, and it wasn't something good. He wasn’t stupid like Tubbo (or, naive, rather) and he didn’t blindly follow a tyrant like the rest of the idiots in L’Manberg. He was his own person. He knew Dream wasn’t capable of having friends, only using the ones he referred to with that title. Word had spread that the team of misfits that was Dream, George, and Sapnap, had disbanded. They were all doing their own thing, and as long as they didn’t bother Techno and his horse, he could care less. Still, he couldn’t help but feel a bit happy that Dream had been abandoned by those closest to him. People had whispered that Dream and George were something else, and that Dream had sullied that relationship with harsh words and actions. Then again, Techno figured if he was in George’s position, being friends with the guy who liked to hunt down his closest partners-- and maybe even romantic interest-- for fun, he’d abandon that ship and let it sink.

“Well, if I find him, I’ll be sure to keep him far away from you,” Techno sneered as he went to walk by Dream. The man caught him by the shoulder, and Technoblade looked over, sharp eyes gazing into a porcelain, painted mask.

“I’d like to remind you that while you aren’t under my jurisdiction, Tommy always will be. Conspiring against me and hiding his only friend-- me-- from him… it’s a little mean, don’t you think?” Dream’s words cut through the air in the worst way, and Techno fought off a shudder, not liking the implication there. He yanked his shoulder away from Dream’s grasp and kept walking, his pace fast. 

Idly, the warrior glanced over to the beach that was set up in almost a celebratory way. Chairs, blankets, a jukebox, too. His brow furrowed, and he studied the scene. Had he missed a party of sorts? Tommy was all alone out here, all alone in an unfamiliar world, and even in the worst of times, even in his loneliness and oppression… he’d decided to throw a party. Techno’s eyes softened, and he realized that his hands were clenched into fists still, an instinct from when Dream had grabbed him.

Tommy was just a kid. He didn’t deserve this.

Techno, for the first time in a long while, hoped his youngest brother was doing okay.

\---

A week later is when Technoblade had a lead on something, a lead on the thief. A door had been left open, and there were footprints on the ground, snowy, but dirty as well. Whoever this was, they didn’t have shoes, and Techno couldn’t help but think about how since he kept his armor locked up (he had hidden it first, but as soon as things started going missing, he kept it out of sight and locked) the vagabond didn’t have shoes.

The snow outside was something fierce, and Technoblade always had to double up on socks under his boots to properly fight the cold. Pigmen were rather hot-blooded as a whole, but even the snow got to Techno’s fair, pink skin. Phil had told him multiple times while building the house to not go out in the snow without a jacket, without shoes, and definitely not without some sort of weapon. Technoblade usually took his father’s words with a grain of salt, but the first night of building, his hoof like feet were absolutely frozen. He had sat in his bath, shivering, while his dad said something along the lines of “I told you so” in a good-natured, fatherly way. When he curled up in bed under his sheep skin blanket, he’d made a mental note not to dare leave the house without proper clothing again, lest he wanted frostbite, and went to sleep.

It was odd, that he was starting to get soft on this whole intruder thing, not liking the fact that someone was going out in the snow barefoot, probably freezing. The fabric he’d found in the door meant that they didn’t have a real coat, either, as the material was worn and thin, more like a light, summer or spring shirt than a thick winter coat. Maybe it was just because they still hadn’t found Tommy that Technoblade was experiencing unusual levels of empathy alongside a lot of bloodlust for Dream. He spent most nights thinking about Tommy and wondering where he was, only for the thoughts to shift to Dream and make him think about strangling the man to death, ripping off his mask to see the light die from his eyes, and dumping his body where no one would find him. After everything that asshole had done, he didn’t deserve a proper burial, he deserved to be left in a creek to decompose and be eaten by wildlife.

Technoblade felt a cold feeling wash over him and he turned when he heard a noise, only to find a surprising figure standing in his doorway with wide, sunken in and empty eyes.

“Wilbur,” Techno sighed. “Don’t sneak up on me like that-- you know you’re supposed to notify me when you show up, not just barge in.”

“My name is Ghostbur, but I understand what you meant,” the phantom said with a hollow voice, though his inflection seemed rather happy. Ghostbur always seemed more happy than the formerly known Wilbur had been. To be fair, Technoblade knew the circumstances and followed what had happened, watching his brother go insane from stress. Wilbur had never been a particularly stable person in the first place, so it wasn’t surprising that he had practically caused his own downfall. 

Techno could remember his brother very well, his personality and how his illnesses had morphed him into something he wasn’t. He wasn’t Phil’s biological child, none of them were, but Wilbur himself came from a long line of family that was full of mental illness, addictions, and distant relationships. Phil had found Wilbur wandering around in the woods, a thirteen year old with a guitar strapped to his back, a yellow, wool sweater, and skinny legs that showed he absolutely needed more food than he was getting. According to Phil, who used to tell the story fondly, Wilbur had been very pointedly ignoring his father when spoken to; but as soon as Phil had heard the loud growl of the teenager’s stomach, he had offered food up. They’d sat there in the cool grass, under the shade of trees, escaping the heat of the summer. The forest had always gotten almost muggy and humid with bugs and other crap, and Phil thought it was odd that the boy he had offered a loaf of bread up to was wearing a thick sweater in what had to be the worst time to don it. 

Apparently, Wilbur had eaten like a wolf, and had grabbed water out of Phil’s waiting hand as soon as he realized that bread was very hard to swallow when you had a dry throat and no drink. He’d wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve and as Phil went to stand, he found that Wilbur stood, too.

 _“Are you following me now?”_ Phil had chuckled.

 _“No, you just happen to be where I’m going,”_ Wilbur replied with an indignant voice, turning his head away and looking at a tree. As Phil had started to move, he heard gentle footsteps behind him and he didn’t comment on them. He hadn’t been able to ask about the boy’s backstory because he’d seemed so focused on eating that when Phil went to ask a simple question, he’d gotten a glare as Wilbur chewed with forceful bites, like he hadn’t eaten anything in years. Phil had at least asked his name, and Wilbur, through a mouthful of bread had simply responded with:

_“Wilbur Soot-- I know you’re pleased to meet me.”_

Now Wilbur had lost his cocky, brash but sensitive nature, and he seemed to be reverted into some husk of a man. He had an echo-y, wavering voice, one that seemed about ready to cry even when he was excited. He had a childish outlook on serious topics, and when people brought up the actions he’d taken when he was alive, he seemed to shut down, his body looking more pale and transparent, as if he was trying to erase himself from existence. Techno figured that he shouldn’t push the problem, now that Ghostbur was dealing with the consequences of his actions by essentially being stuck in purgatory. He had never been a god-fearing person who believed in Heaven or Hell, but Technoblade almost wished his brother could stop living in the state he was, and simply pass on.

“What’re you doing here, Ghostbur?” Techno sighed as he went to pull his hair back into a messy bun. Wilbur had used to beg his older brother to let him braid the long, pink hair. Techno had allowed him to do it once, and he ended up spending the rest of the day trying to dig knots out of what had been silky and smooth strands.

“I wanted to visit you!” Ghostbur said, stepping forward, though he basically hovered on the wooden flooring, pushing the door closed behind him. “They’re looking for you in L’Manberg, you know. There are these posters of you-- I don’t think they show off how cool you are, personally-- and they say you’re wanted. Isn’t it nice to have someone want you?”

Technoblade blinked. “They don’t want me for a good reason, Wilbur.”

“Ghostbur. And, I don’t know, maybe they want to be friends with you, throw you a little party. Tommy was throwing a party, you know! I was in charge of invitations.” Technoblade found himself getting a headache from his dead brother’s cheery voice. Tommy could be dead for all they know and Wilbur was talking about parties and friendship. Great. He might as well make conversation.

“How was the party?”

“Oh, I didn’t go,” Wilbur said sadly, “Dream said to not pass out the invitations, or to visit Tommy anymore. I didn’t want to be rude, so I agreed, but I felt bad-- Tommy needs a friend. All he has is Dream, and Dream is a bit of a bully.”

At least Techno could agree with that, but he definitely wouldn’t use nice terms like Wilbur. “How much do you know about their relationship? Dream didn’t exile you, I know that, but you went with Tommy.”

“Tommy’s my friend, I follow my friends. Like you, PhilzaMinecraft, and good ol’ Tommy. I like my friends.” Ghostbur was practically shining with how happy he was to state that. Technoblade didn’t bother pointing out that he hadn’t seen the ghost in over a month and he didn’t have any idea if their father was even in contact with Wilbur. Phil didn’t talk about it much, obviously harboring intense feelings about having to mercy kill his second child.

“...right.” Technoblade sighed. “But what did Dream do to Tommy? Focus, Ghostbur.”

“Oh! Well, Dream would take all of Tommy’s things almost every day. Tommy would make armor, a sword, tools… and Dream would make him throw them in a hole, then blow up the hole, and all the tools and gear would go with it. It was kind of mean, and sometimes Tommy would get really sad about it-- but Dream probably had a good reason.” Wilbur wandered over to the table, seeing the folded up shirt that Technoblade still hadn’t moved, and that red piece of fabric. Transparent fingers hovered over the material, and he made a happy little hum. “Was Tommy here?”

Technoblade was snapped out of his thoughts, thinking about the way Dream had stated how much he cared about Tommy, versus how Wilbur was describing Dream disarming Tommy until he had nothing. No wonder Tommy had ran, it would be hell to collect and collect only to lose everything you had gathered. Techno knew there had been an ulterior motive, some dirty play. Still, he pushed those thoughts aside, watching Wilbur stare at the fabric with a fond smile. “No, he hasn’t been. Why do you ask?”

“Well, this is part of his shirt! His clothes started getting gross and tattered, I thought he might’ve left this with you.” 

Technoblade froze and walked over, looking at the strip of fabric and picking it up, studying it with a new interest. Was it really Tommy’s? “How do you know this is Tommy’s, Ghostbur?”

“I can just tell. It’s a signature Mr. Innit look!” He smiled as warmly as a ghost could.

“Do you know where Tommy could’ve went?” Technoblade tried.

“Um.” Wilbur’s eyes seemed glazed over as he thought, almost white with the faintest idea of emotions and pupils. “Maybe he went back to Tubbo! I got Tommy a compass that points to Tubbo, and Tubbo got a compass that points to Tommy. I figured they should have a bit of each other to hold onto. They’re very good friends. I wish I had a friend as close as Tommy is with Tubbo.” 

Technoblade chose not to point out the fact that Tubbo willingly exiled Tommy without a second thought. “Yeah… right.” He looked back down at that red strip of fabric, gears turning in his head for what seemed like the hundredth time this week. He was thinking a lot, recently. “Well, could you do me a favor, Ghostbur? Could you go to L’Manberg and look for Tommy? I mean, you know him best, so I’m sure you could find him.” It was like talking to a kid-- just butter them up a bit and they’re putty in your hands.

“I hang around L’Manberg now! I wasn’t exiled, and Phil is there and I see him sometimes. He always looks sad. Maybe he’s sad because Tommy isn’t there, or because you aren’t there. He’s a tired, old man, isn’t he?” Ghostbur gave a soft giggle.

Technoblade had to fight not to snap at his brother for being unable to answer the simplest of questions. How had someone as smart as Wilbur been reduced to a chattering five year old? “But can you look for Tommy? And can you ask Phil to help you?”

“I can, sure!” Ghostbur replied eagerly, eyes shining with a newfound task.

“That’s all I ask of you,” Technoblade said, hoping to just get his dead sibling away from here so he could think in peace with no interruption. “It’s important we find Tommy before Dream does. Dream isn’t going to be happy to know Tommy ran away.”

“Well, I won’t tell Dream what you’re doing. We can be like spies!” Ghostbur’s voice excitedly got louder, the coldness in the air from his aura almost warming with happiness and emotion.

“Yes. Like spies.” Technoblade looked back down at the fabric. “And when we find him, it’ll be a sort of reunion.”

Ghostbur smiled at him, nodding. At least they were on the same page, something that hadn’t been a commonality when Wilbur was alive.

When Technoblade went to sleep that night, he had the red fabric twisted in his fist, held close. He didn’t dream of anything, but his heart had a different feeling in it before he went to sleep. One of hope, and something he hadn’t felt towards his youngest brother in a long while: care and love.

\---

Days after Ghostbur’s sudden appearance, Technoblade came home to an odd feeling. Something smelled different, like steam and shampoo, and he headed up to the bathroom connected to his bedroom. The bath was wet with water, though it was only droplets. The thief was now using his bathroom, and he had a strong feeling he knew who it was. He’d already searched every nook and cranny in his house to see where the vagabond might be hiding, but it seemed they were getting better about hiding footprints. The water that laid on the wood floor was an indicator that something was there, and when Technoblade went to touch one of his towels, it was damp.

The pigman’s brows furrowed and he reached into his pocket, pulling out the strip of red fabric, before tightening it in his fist and heading downstairs. If Tommy was the thief, the vagabond, then there wasn’t a need to drag anyone else into this, especially not someone who would tell Dream. Technoblade was wary even with Ghostbur, wondering if the phantom, with the state he was in, would let something slip and tell the wrong person that Techno was searching for his estranged sibling. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Wilbur, but he wasn’t in his right head, or body for that matter. 

Technoblade, over the course of a day, worked on preparation. If Tommy was sneaking around, if it was him, there was no need for traps. Instead of setting up things that could harm someone, Technoblade cooked food, pulled out his spare shirts and blankets, and set up a heating system of sorts in his home. Thank god he could work his way around redstone. He put everything on the large table he had, leaving the food on plates with silverware, the shirts and blankets folded up nice and neat, and the finishing touch was putting a nice pair of leather boots on the table, brand new and handmade by Technoblade. 

All of this was a chance. While it could be Tommy stealing all his shit and hiding around, it could just as easily be anyone else. Someone could be plotting to kill him and he’d be none the wiser, thinking his kid brother was the one in his home and not a crazy citizen of L’Manberg or some rogue that wanted to hurt him. It was all up to chance, a hunch and the word of a ghost who didn’t like confrontation, and Technoblade hated that. He liked certainty, he liked knowing. It had scared him as a child when he was met with a problem he didn’t know how to handle, so now when he stepped out of his comfort zone, he went for overkill. It was better to be overprepared than underprepared, and now that he was an adult, he didn’t have Phil around to fix his mistakes. 

It’s different for a little piglin to get into trouble with a zombie and be rescued by his father versus letting trouble into his home and simply lending it a seat. As a child, he had gotten into things he shouldn’t have, and he learned not to do them again. He still had a scar on his arm from when a skeleton had come after him and shot him with an arrow right in the bicep. He’d only been around seven, and he came running through the woods, choking back sobs and shouting for Phil. His dad had come running, and he’d been picked up and carried bridal style into the house, screaming his head off that it hurt and that he wanted the arrow out. Phil had held him for hours after he had had to break the tail end of the arrow off and push it all the way through Technoblade’s arm, the piglin sobbing and screaming in pain. It had been too deep and risky to pull out, and for weeks afterwards he was almost scared to wander into the woods without his dad around.

He’d learned, though, not to do it again, not to fuck around with something dangerous just for some fun. Technoblade had never been one for pain as a child, but now that he was older, he could take any hit. Phil had used to spar with him as he grew older, his dad a veteran with a sword, and while Phil usually went easy on him, he took a decent amount of damage to his body. Not to mention his travels as he got older to different areas, fighting and winning like the champion he was, setting up a name for himself. When he’d fought Dream to an arena of people and won, he’d felt unstoppable. That feeling of cockiness and invincibility hadn’t gone away for awhile, and sometimes he still took on challenges that should kill him. “Technoblade never dies,” was his little mantra, and as he looked at the food and gear on his table, he realized that he was asking for trouble.

He was inviting a stranger in to take his things, one that could rob him blind and slit his throat in his sleep. He could end up dead, or forced into being a ghost like his brother. Forced to wander the human realm while being anything but. The thought was almost enough to deter him, but he took one last look at the table of goods before he resigned upstairs and shut off the lights on his way up.

When he came back in the morning, the table was empty, even the plates gone, a space left where everything had been. Technoblade found himself smiling, thinking of an imaginary scenario where his little brother snuck up in the wee hours of the morning and loaded his arms and ran off. When they’d first gotten Tommy into their little family, he used to raid the pantry every night, worried food would run out. 

Technoblade’s chest felt warm at the memory, though at the time he had been pissy that the food he liked had been eaten. He had snapped at Tommy to stop stealing like a little rat, and they’d gotten in multiple shouting matches. Now he sat, staring at his table, wishing he could just talk to Tommy, feed him and comfort him like a big brother should.

His heart almost felt full.

\---

Dream arrived at Technoblade’s door one day, holding something in his hand. A compass. The dial was pointed directly at the inside of the home, and the masked man held it up triumphantly.

“Do you know what this is, Technoblade?” he asked.

“Based off my keen senses, I would assume it’s a compass,” Technoblade said in his usual monotone snarkiness. He could almost feel Dream roll his eyes, even with the porcelain mask hiding his features.

“It’s Tubbo’s compass, one that points to Tommy. Don’t you find it odd that it led me here?”

Techno shifted his jaw, an uncomfortable feeling settling in him. “Get to the point, Dream.”

“I think you’re hiding Tommy, and I’d like my friend back.”

Technoblade gave a bitter laugh. “Do you honestly think I would let Tommy into my house willingly? Also, ‘friend’ is a strong word to use. Wilbur told me all about you disarming Tommy so he was destined to fail. Would a friend do that?”

“I have Tommy’s best interests at heart,” Dream said, his voice taking an icy edge to it. “I saved him from himself. Do you know how many times he went into the Nether and I had to steer him away from jumping into lava and killing himself? He was alone, he had no one, and I saved him. I’m his friend. What are you? His brother that refused to visit him, that belittled him and compared him to myths and legends, mocking him for having a dream, for being a hero?” Dream scoffed under the smile of his mask. “You’re just trying to make yourself feel better after fucking over Tommy as hard as you did. You turned people against him, Technoblade, you made him feel like nothing after you killed his best friend. You fucked up his life, and it’s been very hard to get him back on his feet. So, to save Tommy that horrible feeling of losing everything again because of his selfish big brother, the one who hears a “blood god” in his head and wants to hurt people, I’ve come to get him back. Where is he?”

Technoblade hadn’t hurt anyone in a long while, by his standards, but he could see red from Dream’s words. How dare someone come into his home and drag his name through the mud. How _dare_ Dream, his enemy, claim he hated his brother, that he didn’t care. How _**dare**_ Dream, the fucker that _exiled_ Tommy, claim he had Tommy’s best interests at heart. Technoblade felt himself move before he could stop himself and he brought his hand forward, grabbing Dream by the front of his green hoodie and pulling him close until his snout was almost brushing Dream’s stupid fucking mask with the stupid fucking smile. He could choke Dream, he could kill him right now, he could do it. He could be king, he would always be king, blood for the blood god, everything would be right.

When Technoblade spoke, his voice was steel, anger, and hatred. Absolute malice for the man that had everyone under his control. Schlatt made the order to kill Tubbo, but at the end of the day, Technoblade had been Dream’s pawn. He’d followed Dream’s wishes without even knowing it, and when he had figured out what was happening, it was too late. Wilbur was dead, Tommy hated him, Phil was nowhere to be found, and everything had gone fucking wrong. It was Dream who did this, playing the game and running the motions like a well oiled machine. “There’s a fucking reason your friends left your sorry ass and realized that you were using them just like you used everyone else. I don’t think you’re capable of love, you sociopathic little freak. I think you just sit on your throne and order people around to feel like a bigger person, but all you are is a fuck-up that’ll be killed someday. You’re no god, no champion, you’re a ruler who has gone too fucking far with power, and you know what we do to rulers who abuse their people? We make an example of them. We cut off their sorry heads and put them on display. We let people know what to expect from tyrants. You played the game, but your hand isn’t as fucking good as mine.” 

Dream was absolutely rigid in his fist, and Technoblade shoved him back suddenly, watching him stumble back and fall on the porch on his ass, his mask sliding out of place to reveal a thin line of lips. The compass had fallen beside him, and Technoblade picked it up, holding it up as he stared down Dream’s pathetic form.

“Get out, and don’t come back. I’ll kill you like I should’ve when we first fought, don’t try me.”

Dream pushed himself to his feet, staring down Technoblade even as he adjusted his mask back over his mouth. His words were spat in Technoblade’s direction.

“You’ll regret doing this, you fucking swine.”

And then he was gone.

Technoblade watched him walk off, storm off like a child, and he closed the door, staring at the wood for a moment, before gently pressing his head to the firm oak and sighing.

“Techno?” came a soft voice from behind Technoblade. It was divine intervention, it was everything he needed, it was…

“Big T?” Tommy tried, watching Technoblade’s shoulders tremble with reserved, repressed emotion. His older brother turned around, and Tommy swore he could see some hint of tears, of absolute remorse, sorrow, asking and begging for forgiveness.

Techno stood there, hands at his sides, staring at Tommy, and he felt himself feel that feeling he had as a kid. The one where he got into trouble and he was unsure, uncertain. He didn’t like uncertainty, he hated not being in control. Techno felt a horrible lump in his throat forming, and he spoke in a soft whisper.

“So you’re the vagabond that’s been stealing my stuff,” Techno weakly said.

Tommy nodded, still staring. “Are you mad?”

“Relieved.”

“Because I’m not some rogue who’ll kill you?”

“Because you’re not dead.”

“Takes a lot more than a power hungry jerk to take me out!” Tommy laughed, though it died down a bit when Techno continued to stare. He coughed awkwardly, and looked away, only to make a startled squeak of a shout as he was suddenly wrapped up in strong arms, Technoblade practically crushing him from how tight the hug was. He had never gotten a hug from his eldest brother before, he didn’t even know it was possible. Technoblade was a stone cold killer as far back as Tommy could remember. His brother had changed and he felt those strong arms trembling with some emotion he had never seen in anyone but Wilbur. The last time he had seen this shakiness, this uncertain affection and panic in one person, it was when Wilbur was losing it, when things were simpler but still chaotic. Tommy reached a hand up and gently patted Technoblade’s neck with a watery laugh. God, had the emotion gotten to him, too?

“It’s alright, Techno, I’m fine,” he tried, though he didn’t want the hug to end. Tommy was so touch-starved from everything, that he found himself pulling Techno in so close and inhaling the scent of the forest, shampoo he had used himself, and fresh dirt. He felt more at home than he had in months, and it was such an odd feeling to realize he was still… Tommy. Still Tommy, the seventeen year old with a sharp mouth, impulsive moves, a fucked up brain, and anger issues. 

He had grown up so much in the past months that he sometimes didn’t recognize himself when he caught his reflection in water. In his body he felt like an adult with a hardened heart and deep rooted hatred for the world, but when he had been at the beach, when no one showed up to the party… he had seen himself. His shirt had been torn, there were bags under his eyes. His shoes were so worn, not to mention he’d lost one, and he realized that he was just a kid. A really scared kid.

But now he stood in a warm house, enveloped by his brother, a hand pushing through his now clean hair after he’d taken advantage of a bath, having scrubbed the dirt off himself, the grime. He felt a little more human because of Technoblade, and that was a first, considering his brother was anything but, in more than just a physical aspect.

When Techno pulled back, Tommy watched a small smile cross his sibling’s features, one he had heard of from Phil, but never really seen.

“Welcome home, Theseus,” Techno said in a gruff, yet horribly tender voice.

“It’s good to be back,” Tommy replied.

And for the first time in what seemed like forever, Technoblade felt like he had a little slice of normality in his chaotic life, brought to him by a brother he’d never appreciated. 

He made a mental note to never let Tommy go again.

**Author's Note:**

> hi i wrote this in about five hours. i do plan on doing a resolution where tommy and techno take on dream but currently in the canon roleplay, they arent that far along and theyre doing their whole anarchy thing blah blah blah so im biding my time. anyways, i hope you enjoy. thank you for reading.


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